Did You Know I'm Writing a Book?
Why parenting is like making meat loaf.
Hi, it’s me.
It’s been a hot minute since April when I last shared anything here about the book I’m writing. In case you found me after that, let me tell you about it as I hunker down to (hopefully) finish the first draft over the next few months.
I’m writing a memoir about parenting for those who are a parent or have a parent.
It explores family culture—both the ones my husband Bryan and I grew up in, and the one we created with our own kids. I write about the tricky and sometimes uncomfortable conversations that often come up in parenting, including topics like death, faith, racism, sex, and mental health, among others. It’s kinda funny, a little irreverent, and super duper honest about the hard stuff.
The book is primarily for parents currently in the thick of it who struggle with self doubt or second guess themselves and wonder if they’re doing it right. But I’m finding that even those who aren’t parents are connecting with my story because it dawns on them that their own parents probably struggled with the same things.
The parenting metaphor I often use is meat loaf. You heard me… meat loaf.
If you’ve ever made meatloaf, you’ll know what I’m talking about, because when you make meatloaf, you can salt it and season it all you want, but will it taste good? Who the fuck knows. You can’t taste raw meat like you do cookie dough. You season it as best as you can and hope for the best, but when you slide it into the oven for forty-five minutes? It’s in God’s hands. By the time you can evaluate if the meatloaf is delightful or terrible, it’s too late and you’re starving. Which makes you cranky.
Raising kids is exactly like cooking meat loaf: none of us really knows how any of this is gonna work out until it’s way too late. The reality is, 99% of parenting is seasoning to the best of our ability and waiting for the thing to bake. Which is why parents are stressed out all the time over raising kids—we’re worried about launching poorly salted humans out into the world!
As I work through the final few chapters, I’ll share some shitty first drafts with you.
Let’s meet up on Zoom! October 26, 9:00am Pacific.
If you’d like to learn more about the book and maybe help me work out a couple things I’m stuck on, I’d love to hang out: meet me at 9am Pacific time on Saturday, October 26. I’ll be there with my coffee.
Hope to see you there.
Until next time,
Jen
👇 I posted a few writing samples below
From the opening chapter:
“I’m not going to be friends with Black people anymore,” my then five-year-old said.
We were crossing the street at a busy intersection on our way home from the school bus stop, and she was walking ahead of me. I can still see the bounce in her step – she was always full of extroverted energy after a full day at kindergarten – and she says this matter-of-factly as she might matter-of-factly choose grilled cheese over peanut butter and jelly.
She had just stepped up to the curb on the other side, and I was in the middle of the intersection with my foot hanging in mid-air step. I lurched forward awkwardly, the circuits in my brain having focused so much attention on not reacting that they forgot to tell my legs how to walk. I contain the flush of adrenaline running through me with the stillness in my face, jaw clenched as tight as my chest, projecting calmness through the internal tidal wave.
whatdoido whatdoido whatdoido
I step onto the curb and take a breath.
“Tell me more about that,” I say.
From the faith chapter:
On day two as I sat in the house, I heard some chanting from the back deck area and squinted, trying to make out what they were saying. To my horror, ten kids and four teenagers were chanting Hebrews 9:22 over and over again: “WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS OF SIN!” – their volume rising with each repetition until they were shouting.
Oh Christian subculture. I know you mean well, but what the actual fuck?
“WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS OF SIN!”
To the surrounding neighborhood on the other side of our high privacy fence, it sounded like a bunch of first and second graders were about to sacrifice cats in our fire pit.
“WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS OF SIN!”
I burst through the back door, walking with my legs crossed to avoid peeing as I laughed, and declared, “I think that’s enough scripture memorization for today!”
From the apology chapter:
When the kids are older and we ask them to apologize, it’s often a huffy “I’m SORRY!”
“Can you try that again?” we’ll say.
Her body vibrating with anger, Ruthie will push “I’m sorry!” out through clenched teeth and a sour face.
“Hey, can you try one more time? Like you mean it?” we say.
Her shoulders relax and her face softens. “I’m sorry,” she will say gently.
Bryan and I will have many conversations about whether or not we’re simply teaching the kids to be good actors. He is logical, and I’m emotional. I want them to feel something, he wants them to practice something. We have no idea how this will turn out. I keep thinking that Ted Bundy seemed like a super amenable guy on the outside. Did his parents teach him to act like he was sorry?
I am sooooo behind on my reading, Jen! This post - and the heart-shaped meatloaf - is food for my soul. Can't wait for the book - and I say that as a human whose forever status is non-parent. xxx
If your book is half as good as that meatloaf metaphor, I will take two dozen copies please!